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Tag Archives: coon hunting

Grandpa, the dogs and I go into the woods at sunset. He carries the rifle and I carry the flashlight. We hike for hours through darkened rough hills to reach grandpa’s secret hunting ground. In a clearing, we build a roaring fire and grandpa sends out the dogs. I lay on a bed of pine needles and watch falling stars. Grandpa nips at his flask and dozes.

We wake at daylight. The dogs came back during the night. We head home. I don’t have the heart to tell him there haven’t been any coons in these woods for twenty years.